John Phantom!
by derpfangirl
Summary: What if after PP the world sort of forgets about Danny? What if John Watson wasn't who he says he is? Could they be one in the same? This was a prompt I found, I loved the idea so much I took it and ran! Obviously credit goes to 2FantasyLover2, hope you guys like it!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Danny Phantom and Sherlock belong to their respective creators.

Danny's POV

 _It's been years since the disasteroid incident. Almost everyone in the world had forgotten as the years passed. I had decided to take medicine instead of being an astronaut. I mean, saving people has always been my thing since I went into the portal and turned into Phantom. Over the years, the ghosts in the zone came to respect me. So, ghost attacks became almost nonexistent. They are still some who attack occasionally but not like when I was fourteen._

 _Anyways, I got a Doctorate's degree in military medicine and decided to join the army. But I didn't want to be in the American government, you can guess why, so I made a deal with the president and the prime minister to give me a whole new identity and put me in the British military. My new name is John Watson._

 _They even made a new name for Jazz. Hers is Harriet or Harry for short. Since our parents died in that accident she's, never been the same. She turned into an alcoholic. But enough of my past. Let me tell you about my adventures with an incredible man. One who I was surprised didn't notice my real identity sooner. Well I guess I've been playing as Watson for so long I must have forgotten I was a Fenton._

John's POV

I sigh as I come out of my therapist's office. Write a bloody blog, who does she think she's talking to Shakespeare? I couldn't write down my feelings for the whole world to see. No thank you. Passing by St. Bart's hospital I hear someone call out my name. "John, John Watson!" Pausing I turn to the source of the voice. It seemed to be this bloke who was walking quickly to keep up.

When he finally caught up he bended down using his knees for support. "Hold... on a... second... let me... catch my breath." He said before straightening.

"John Watson. Wow... it's been a long time hasn't?" He looks at me up and down.

I am utterly confused. "Um sorry uh you're...?" I say before the man smiles at me. "Oh, you probably don't recognize me since I've gained weight, it's me Mike Stamford."

Recognition falls on me putting the name and face together. "Ah yes, sorry, yes, Mike. Hello, hi. Uh how are you doing?" I say shaking his hand before sitting down at a bench.

"Oh, I'm doing fine, I teach at St. Bart's now. What about you? Last I heard you were in Afghanistan getting shot at." He said taking a seat next to me. I sigh before saying. "I got shot." He gives me a sympathetic look. God I hate those. Feeling awkward I stand to get us some coffee.

Giving him his he nods in understanding. "Sorry about that mate." I shake my head. "No, its fine forget about it. So, teaching at Bart's huh?" I say to lighten the mood.

Mike smiles. "Yeah, bright young things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!" We both burst out laughing. "What about you? Just staying in town 'til you get yourself sorted?"

I sigh. "I can't afford London on an Army pension." Mike takes a sip as well. "Couldn't Harry help?" He says.

Jazz... I don't think she's in good shape to help me. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen!" I say sarcastically to hide my sorrow.

Mike shrugs. "I dunno – get a flat share or something?" I laugh at the idea. "Come on who'd want me for a flat mate?" I say taking another sip.

Mike chuckles at my response. "What?" I ask confused. He gives me a knowing smile. "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

I stare at him. "Who was the first?" He smiled at me and motioned for me to get up. "I think he's still in the morgue so why don't you come and see?" He offered making his way to the morgue.

"Alright then..." I mumble following him.

You know I expected many things when I entered the morgue. None of them were a tall bloke whipping a corpse. "What you had a bad day mate?" I ask sarcastically as he straitens and glances in our direction. I take this moment to look at him more closely. He was pale with black hair. His cheek bones looked like they could cut anything and his eyes were a piercing blue that rivaled my icy ones.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." He says stretching his arm for the phone as he inspects the body. Well he ignored me.

Mike looks at him with a puzzled look. "And what's wrong with the landline?" The man gives him a bored look. "I prefer to text."

Mike sighed. "Sorry. It's in my coat." I fish out my phone from my back pocket. "Err, here. Use mine." I say giving it to him.

"Oh. Thank you." He says taking it and sending a text. He glances briefly at Mike who introduces us. "John Watson meet Sher-" He gets interrupted by the man.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" I frown. Nearby, Mike smiles knowingly. I look at the stranger as he continues to type.

"Sorry?" I say bewildered. How does he know that? What else does he know? The man sighs. "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" He briefly raises his eyes to me before looking back to the phone. Hesitating, I look across to Mike, confused. Mike just smiles smugly. "Uh, Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?" I question looking at him questionably.

The stranger looks up as a woman comes into the room holding a mug of coffee. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you."

He turns off my phone and returns it while Molly brings him the mug. He takes it and looks closely at her. I look at her as well. She seemed nice. She was around my height and pale with red hair. She had a lab coat on, she must work here.

He looked at her curiously. "What happened to the lipstick?" Molly smiled awkwardly at him. "It wasn't working for me." "Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now." Ouch poor girl. I think as the man turns and walks back to the body, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.

"...Okay." She turns and heads back towards the door. "How do you feel about the violin?" I look round at Molly but she's on her way out the door.

I then glance at Mike who was still smiling smugly at me, and that's when I finally realize this stranger who I don't know the name of, was talking to me.

"I'm sorry, what?" I ask confused. He looks up from examining the body for bruises. "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He states looking at me. "Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He throws a hideously fake smile at me. I cringe internally, looking at him blankly for a moment before turning my gaze to Mike. "Oh, you... you told him about me?" I say pointing a finger at him. His smug smile seems to widen. "Not a word."

I turn to the stranger again. "Then who said anything about flat mates?" I ask looking at him in shock. He picks up his coat and puts it on. "I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap." He says as if it were obvious.

I started disliking this guy more and more. He sounded like Vlad when I was fourteen. "How did you know about Afghanistan?" I ask he ignores my question wrapping his scarf around his neck he then picks up his mobile and checks it.

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walks towards me. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash."

Putting his phone into his coat pocket he walks past me and heads for the door. Turning to look at him I say. "Is that it?" He turns back from the door and comes closer to me. "Is that what?" "We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?" "Problem?" He asks.

Is this guy serious? I smile in disbelief, looking at Mike for help I sigh when I see he's still smiling smugly. I turn back to him. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name." I state to the bloke. He looks at me closely for a moment before speaking.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks you need to interact more." He says.

How the hell did he figure all this out? I wonder shuffling awkwardly. He smiles smugly now. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He asks turning and walking to the door, he opens it and leaves the room, but then he leans back into the room again.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street." Sherlock says clicking his tongue and winking at me. He then looks round at Mike. "Afternoon." He says before leaving. I turn to Mike my mouth open in shock. He smiles before saying. "Oh, yeah he's always like that."

After my little adventure, I return to my small flat near the edge of London. I can't stay long but it will do until I apparently move in with Sherlock. Sighing I pull out my laptop. Curious about this guy I open a browser and type in his name. "Let's see who exactly are you Sherlock Holmes." I say to myself wondering how much fun Tucker would probably have with this.

I walk along the road and reach the door marked 221B just as a black cab pulls up at the curb behind me. I knock on the door as Sherlock gets out of the cab. "Hello." He says to me before turning to pay the cabbie. I turn as he walks up to the door. "Ah, hello Mr. Holmes." I say formally. He smiles politely. "Sherlock, please." he states before shaking my hand.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive." "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." I look at him amazed.

After searching him up I came to respect the man a bit. "Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?" I ask impressed. Damn, would have been helpful during the Walker incident and the mayor, so long ago. Sherlock looks at me and smiles, it's so faint I can barely trace it. "Oh no. I ensured it." The genius states as the front door is opened by who I must assume is Mrs. Hudson, she was an elderly woman her hair was a reddish color, she opens her arms to Sherlock.

I stand to the side watching the two greet each other. "Sherlock, hello." "Hello Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock turns and walks into her arms, hugging her briefly, then steps back and presents me to her. "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson." She turned to me with a big smile. "Hello."

"How do you do?" I respond. She gestures for us to come in. "Come in. Come in." "Thank you." Sherlock enters. "Shall we?" Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Yeah."

We go inside and Mrs. Hudson closes the door. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first-floor landing, then pauses and waits for me to catch up since I was looking around. As I reach the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of me and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat.

I follow him in and look around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it. "Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." Sherlock looks around as well. "Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So, I went straight ahead and moved in." "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out... Oh." I rub the back of my neck as I realized we talked over each other. Wait a minute. "So, this is all..."

Sherlock looks around slightly embarrassed before he starts to clean up the mess. "Well, obviously, I can, um, straighten things up a bit." He walks across the room, half-heartily attempt to tidy up a little, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he puts them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them.

I had noticed something else on the mantelpiece and point at it. "That's a skull." I state looking at the thing curiously. Huh kind of reminds me of Skulker. Sherlock looks at the skull. "Friend of mine. When I say 'friend'..." Mrs. Hudson has followed us into the room. She picks up a cup and saucer while Sherlock takes off his greatcoat and scarf.

She turns to me. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Oh, God she's not implying what I think she's implying. "Of course, we'll be needing two." I say. Thank god Jazz is not here, she'd psycho analyze me if she were sober.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here." She drops her voice before saying. "Mrs. Turner next doors got married ones." I look across to Sherlock hopping he would confirm that he and me weren't a thing.

But it seemed that Sherlock was oblivious to what's being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." She says before going into the kitchen and starts tidying up. Looking over to the two armchairs I walk over to one of the two, plump up a cushion on the chair and then drop heavily down into it. I look across to Sherlock who is still tidying up a little. "I looked you up on the internet last night." This seems to grab his attention because he turns to me. "Anything interesting?" "Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Sherlock smiles proudly. "What did you think?" I throw him my best 'you have got to be kidding me' look. Sherlock looks hurt. Oh, wait this guy's serious? What's next a ghost attack? "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. "Yes; and I can read your military career in your face, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." "How?" I ask genuinely curious. It's kinda like talking to clockwork. He's so cryptic about what he says. But Sherlock just plain says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three the same." She says. Suicides? Like the ones on the news? Sherlock walks over to the window of the living room at the sound of a car pulling up outside. Is that a police car? "Four." He looks down at the car. It's probably a police car because of the siren and flashing lights through the window. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Mrs. Hudson looks at him curiously. "A fourth?"

Sherlock turns as a man who seemed to be a detective (who apparently must have picked the lock on the front door... like you do when you don't have ghost powers to aid you) trots up the stairs and comes into the living room. "Where?" Sherlock asks before the new arrival can speak. "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The new guy says without missing a beat. Huh must be used to it then. "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." "You know how they never leave notes?" "Yeah." "This one did. Will you come?" The detective asked. Sherlock seemed to ponder something before asking. "Who's on forensics?" "It's Anderson." Sherlock grimaces, shaking his head. "Anderson won't work with me." "Well, he won't be your assistant." "I need an assistant." "Will you come?" "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind." The investigator sighs in relieve. "Thank you." He looks round at me and Mrs. Hudson for a moment, he turns and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock waits until he has reached the front door, then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

At this point I really wonder my life choices. This guy's more of a fruit loop than Vlad. And yet he's interesting. "Brilliant!" He exclaims happily. "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He says walking around the room and grabbing his things. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." "I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." He ignores her statement and heads for the door. "Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" He then disappears. Mrs. Hudson turns back to me. "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." She says in nostalgia. For a woman who wanted Sherlock to ensure her husband's death she seems to have liked him a lot. "But you seem more of the staying at home type." She turns towards the kitchen. "I'll make you that cuppa. You make yourself comfortable." Damn it all I can't sit here and do nothing! "Damn making myself comfortable!" I say loudly, I regret it immediately. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just I'm not used to not do anything if I can help." I shift uncomfortably. "I understand, dear; I've got a hip. But I can't stand doing nothing, especially since Sherlock is always solving his mysteries." She turns towards the kitchen again. I sigh, might as well have that cuppa. "Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you." Mrs. Hudson smiles at me. "Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." I grab a nearby newspaper. "Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em." I add as an afterthought. "Not your housekeeper!" I hear her exclaim from the kitchen. I look at the article reporting Beth Davenport's apparent suicide. Next to a large photograph of Beth is a smaller one showing the man who just visited the identified him as D.I. Lestrade. Before I can read on, Sherlock's voice interrupts me looking up I see him standing at the living room door.

"You're a doctor. In fact, you're an Army doctor." He states. "Yes."

I get to my feet and turn towards Sherlock as he comes back into the room again. "Any good?" He asks eyeing me. "Very good." I respond confidently. "Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths." He continues. No shit, most of them on myself from when I used to ghost hunt. "Mmm, yes." I simply state, no use telling him that. "Bit of trouble too, I bet." What is These twenty questions? Quietly I respond. "Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." And it was only half of it was seen in Afghanistan. He looks at the floor before looking back at me with a smile on his face. "Wanna see some more?" Is this guy kidding he knows I've seen some fucked up shit and he's asking if I want to see some more? Sign me the fuck "Oh God, yes."

Sherlock spins on his heel and leads me out of the room and down the stairs. Calling out as I follow him down. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Heading out." She was standing near the bottom of the stairs. Looking up at us she asks. "Both of you?" Sherlock had almost reached the front door before turning back to her. "Four impossible suicides? There's no point sitting at home all day when there finally something fun going on!" He says going over to her and kissing her dramatically on the cheek.

"Look at you so happy! It's not decent..." That didn't stop her from smiling as well as he turns away and heads for the front door again.

"Oh, who cares about being decent? The game Mrs. Hudson is on!" He walks out onto the street and hails an approaching black cab. "Taxi!" He calls and the cab stops. I quickly follow after him. Looks like I'm headed for an adventure. If only Sam and Tucker could see me now...

The taxi pulls up alongside and we get in, then the car drives off again and heads for Brixton. We sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and I keep stealing nervous glances at him. Finally, Sherlock lowers his phone. Should I ask him some of my questions? "Okay, you've got questions." He states. Well that answers that.

"Yeah, where are we going?" I start of. "Crime scene. Next?"

Okay... "Who are you? What do you do?" Might as well pick his brain.

He gives me a smug look. "What do you think?" He asks.

I ponder for a minute. "I'd say private detective..." I start but it doesn't seem right. "But?" Sherlock insists.

"...but the police don't go to private detectives." I finish. "I'm a _consulting_ detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He corrects.

The hell? "What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He says in that voice that makes you think it was obvious.

This guy can't be serious. "The police don't consult amateurs." I say. Sherlock seems offended by my comment.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised." He states.

Of course, I was he knew that without me or Mike telling him. "Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room..." I recap what I said as I entered. 'Bit different from my day.'

"...said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. You seemed tired when you walked in but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so that means you have discipline. That says you were probably wounded since you look relatively young about twenty years old. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He finishes clicking his tongue.

Wow... but wait what about- "You said I had a therapist. "I state my thoughts. "You were wounded so badly they sent you home – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." He says as if it were obvious.

"Hmm?" I ask. He holds his hand out assuming he wants my phone again I give it to him. "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flat share – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." He says turning the phone over. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

I nod in understanding. "The engraving..." It had the words:

Harry Watson

From Clara

xxx

They were engraved there.

He continued with his explanation "Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses say it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." He says. This guy got all this from looking at my phone for a couple of seconds?

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" I ask. He smiles. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunks without them" He finishes handing the phone here you go, you see – you were right." He says.

Wait what? "I was right? Right about what?" I ask confused.

"The police don't consult amateurs." He simply says. Looking out of the side window, he bites his lip nervously while he awaits my reaction.

I take a few seconds trying to process all of this. "That... was amazing." I end up saying.

Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply for the next four seconds. "Do you think so?" He asks to make sure.

"Of course, it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." I say.

Sherlock looks at me surprise still a bit evident on his face. "That's not what people normally say." "What do people normally say?" I ask already guessing the answer. He smirks at me. " 'Piss of!' " I laugh turning away to look out of the window as the journey continues.

We finally arrive at Brixton. The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and me and Sherlock get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road.

"Did I get anything wrong?" He asks out of the blue. I think for a bit remembering the conversation we had in the car. "Harry and I don't get on, haven't in a while. Clara and Harry split up three months ago, and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker." I say. Sherlock looks pleased with himself. "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." He says impressed. I smile before saying. "And Harry's short for Harriet."

He must have been shocked because he stops dead in his tracks. "Harry's your sister." He states.

I ignore him and keep walking. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" I ask. Sherlock still seems to be processing the information because he bites out: "Sister!"

I sigh. "No, seriously, what am I doing here?" Sherlock exasperated, started to walk again. "There's always something." He mumbles.

We approach the police tape where we are met by a dark-skinned woman. "Hello, freak." She greets. I flinch slightly before regaining my composure. I don't really like the word much...Sherlock ignores her statement. "I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." He states. "Why?" She asks. "I was invited." Sherlock says sounding a bit impatient. "Why?" I think she likes that word to much.

Sherlock sighs. "I think he wants me to take a look." He says sarcastically.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Well, you know what I think, don't you?" She says. Sherlock apparently tired of this lifts the police tape and ducking under to the other side. "Always, Sally." He breathes in through his nose. "I even know you didn't make it home last night." He says smirking knowingly at her. She gives him a pointed look. "I don't..." She notices me. "Err, who's this?" She asks surprised. Sherlock looks at me as well. "Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson."

He gestures to the woman. "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Old friend."

Donovan looks between us surprise written all over her face. "A colleague? How do _you_ get a colleague?!" She asks Sherlock. She then turns to me. "What, did he follow you home?" She asks glancing at Sherlock disgust clear on her face.

Wonder what he does to her to rile her up so much. Hmm I wonder could it be that she...

"Um, would it be better if I just waited and..." I say pointing towards where the cab once stood. Sherlock lifted the police tape and gestured for me to follow. I shrug before ducking under. Donovan sighs before radioing something. Probably telling Lestrade that were here.

She leads us towards the house. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as we approach. We reach the pavement, then a man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house. He doesn't look pleased.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock says mischief in his eyes.

Anderson gives him a pointed look. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" He says pointing his gloved finger at him.

Sherlock responds by taking a deep breath through his nose again. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" He asks innocently. "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that." Anderson barks at him.

Sherlock smirks at him. "Your deodorant told me that."

Anderson looks at him in shock. "My deodorant?" He asks bewildered.

Sherlock pulls a quirky look and sing songs. "It's for men." I snort at that.

He looks offended. "Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" He all but yells. I'm struggling to contain my laughter.

Sherlock's smug look returns. "So's Sergeant Donovan." He says his smirk widening. That got him. Anderson looks at Donavan in shock.

Sherlock takes another deep breath through his nose. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?" He says. Oohhh get some ice for that burn. The fourteen-year-old in me says.

Anderson looks ready to tear him apart. "Now look whatever you're trying to imply..." He starts but Sherlock interrupts him. "I'm not implying anything."

He heads past Donovan towards the front door. "I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He says with a hint of sarcasm. He turns back. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. I walk past Donovan, briefly but pointedly I look down to her knees, then I follow Sherlock inside. Sherlock leads me into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.

"You need to wear one of these." He says to me.

Lestrade looks at us then asks "Who's this?" He gestures to me as I put on the coverall.

Sherlock glances at him as he takes his gloves off. "He's with me." He simply states.

Lestrade sighed. "Yes, but who is he?" He asked again trying to get an answer out of the consulting detective.

"I said he's with me." Said detective said again.

As this went on I took if my jacket and picked up the coverall. I hate these things... Glancing over at the two I notice that Sherlock has put on some latex gloves but hasn't done much else.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" I ask referring to the coverall. If he's not wearing one I'm taking this thing of. Sherlock gives me a stern look. That answers that. Sighing I take mine of and just put on the gloves. "If he doesn't need to wear one I sure as hell not wearing it." I mutter as Sherlock keeps talking To the D.I.

"So, where are we?" He asked looking at the D.I.

He picks up another pair of latex gloves. "Upstairs." He simply says before leading us up the stairs.

Opening the door to the room he looks at Sherlock. "I can give you two minutes."

Sherlock gives him a glance before entering. "May need longer." He says casually.

Lestrade ignores that comment and goes on to telling us about the victim. "Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

3rd POV

The room is empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles hold up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman's body is lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She is wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at the woman's body and his face fills with pain and sadness. The three of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade.

"Shut up." He says suddenly startling the detective inspector.

"I didn't say anything." He replies surprise evident in his voice.

Sherlock sighs not looking at the others in the room. "You were thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. His attention is immediately drawn to the fact that scratched into the floorboards near the woman's left hand is the word "Rache". His eyes flick to her fingernails where the index and middle nails are broken and ragged at the ends, the pink nail polish chipped in stark comparison to her other nails which are still immaculate. The woman's index finger rests at the bottom of the 'e' as if she was still trying to carve into the floor when she died. Sherlock makes an instant deduction:

 _ **left handed**_

He looks back to the word carved into the floorboards and an immediate suggestion springs into his mind:

 _ **RACHE German(n.) revenge**_

Instantly he shakes his head in a tiny dismissive movement and the suggestion disappears. He looks at the carved word again and overlays the five letters with a clearer type. Next to the 'e' a rapid progression of letters appears and disappear as he tries to complete the word, then the correct letter settles into place to form the word:

 _ **Rachel**_

He squats down beside the body and runs his gloved hand along the back of her coat, then lifts his hand again to look at his fingers:

 _ **wet**_

He reaches into her coat pockets and finds a white folding umbrella in one of them. Running his fingers along the folds of the material, he then inspects his glove again:

 _ **dry**_

Putting the umbrella back into her pocket, he moves up to the collar of her coat and runs his fingers underneath it before again looking at his fingers:

 _ **wet**_

Reaching into his pocket he takes out a small magnifier, clicks it open and closely inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ...

 _ **clean**_

... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ...

 _ **clean**_

... and then the gold chain around her neck ...

 _ **clean**_

... before moving on to look at the rings on her left ring finger. The wedding ring and engagement ring flag a different message to him:

 _ **dirty**_

Sherlock blinks as a rapid succession of conclusions appear in front of his eyes:

 _ **married unhappily married unhappily married 10 years**_

Carefully Sherlock works the wedding ring off the woman's finger and holds it up to look at the inside of the ring. While the outside of the ring is still showing

 _ **dirty**_

the inside registers as

 _ **clean**_

As Sherlock lowers the ring and slides it back onto the woman's finger, he has already reached a conclusion about the ring:

 _ **regularly removed**_

Lifting his hands away from the woman, he looks down at her and makes his final deduction about her:

 _ **serial adulterer**_

He smiles slightly in satisfaction.

John's POV

After about two minutes Sherlock finishes inspecting the body. He straightens and looks at us with a smile of satisfaction. Lestrade looks at him expectantly. "Got anything?"

Sherlock shrugs as if there really wasn't anything of importance there. "Not much." He replies.

Pacing a bit, he takes off the gloves and then gets his mobile phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.

Anderson who had been leaning on the door frame speaks up. "She's German. 'Rache' it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something..." He says but gets cut off by the door getting slammed into his face by Sherlock. I chuckle quietly.

"Yes, thank you for your input." He says sarcastically, he turns and walks back into the room, still looking at his phone.

Lestrade shifts slightly. "So, she's German?" He asks for confirmation. Um dude the guy just shut the door on Anderson for suggesting that, I'm sure she's not German.

"Of course, she's not." Ha new it. "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night..." He smiles smugly when he apparently finds the information he needed. "...Before returning home to Cardiff." He pockets his phone.

"So far, so obvious." He states looking at the body against before returning his attention to Lestrade.

What? Really obvious? "Sorry – obvious?"

Lestrade seems to be used to this because he continues his interrogation. "What about the message, though?"

Sherlock ignores him and turns his focus on me. "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

I glance at the body. "Of the message?" I ask.

Sherlock sighs before saying. "Of the body. You're a medical man."

Before I can do anything Lestrade buts in. "Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside."

"They won't work with me." The genius in the room states like it would mean anything.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here." Lestrade said distraught. Sherlock waved him off ignoring his statement.

"Yes... because you need me." he states. Lestrade stares at him for a moment then lowered his eyes helplessly.

"Yes, I do, God help me." He mumbles.

Sherlock turns his attention back to me. "Doctor Watson."

I look at him. "Hm?" I glanced at Lestrade as if asking for permission, he sighs again and turns towards the door. "Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." He says annoyed before opening the door and going outside.

As the door closes we can hear him below to Anderson. "Anderson keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Huh he was persuaded easily I ponder walking over to the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and I lower myself on the other.

He looks at me expectantly. "Well?"

I glanced at him and softly say. "What am I doing here?"

Sherlock sighs before softly saying in return. "Helping me make a point."

Wait isn't he supposed to be the genius here... why does he need me? "I'm supposed to be helping you pay rent." I whisper. Sherlock smiles at me saying. "Yeah well this is more fun. I look at him bewildered. "Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you to go deeper."

Before I can respond Lestrade comes back into the room and just stands inside the doorway finally deciding I was going to look. leaning forward to look more closely at the woman's body I put my head close to hers and sniff tilted my head and curiosity I straighten a little before a lifting her right hand looking at the skin. I kneel and look across to Sherlock. "Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs." I say not sure is my answer would suffice.

"you know what it was. you've brought the papers." Sherlock says urging me on.

Oh, that's right. How could I forget. "What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?" I ask just in case.

Lestrade looks impatient. "Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

We both stand up

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." he says.

Lestrade looks at him curiously. "Suitcase?" I look around the room looking for it but I can't find it. I swear this man can be a fruit loop at times.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married." Sherlock continues.

Lestrade groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up..." He says.

Sherlock points down at her left hand. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple." He says in that its obvious tone that I both like and hate.

"That's brilliant." I find myself saying.

Sherlock looks round at me. Uhhhh great job Fenton. "Sorry." I rub my hand on my neck.

Lestrade looks at Sherlock in confusion ignoring my comment. "Cardiff?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" He asks.

Um no genius it's not. "No genius it's not." I say my sarcasm flowing into my words.

Sherlock looked at us seeming unfazed by my comment. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He said before turning his attention to the body.

"Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" He asks before taking out his phone and showing what he was looking at earlier which was displaying today's weather for south Britain.

"Cardiff." He says simply. Wow he discovered all that in just under five minutes. "That's fantastic!" I say out loud without realizing it.

He looks at me bewilderment can be seen on his features. "D'you know you do that out loud?" He asks in a whisper.

I look at him my eyes widening in shock. "Sorry. I'll shut up." I rub the back of my neck in embarrassment.

He shook his head. "No, it's... fine." He whispered before turning his attention back to the case. He must not be used to praise. I'll have to keep that in mind.

"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" The million-dollar question was asked by the detective inspector.

Sherlock spun around in a circle to look around the room. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is." He said.

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" He asked as Sherlock looked.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course, she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?" He said sarcasm tainting his first sentence.

Hmm. "Maybe she had to wait for the culprit to leave the room?" I ponder not realizing I said it out loud.

Both Sherlock and Lestrade pause to look at me. I look up from staring at the message. "What?" I ask.

Sherlock snapped out of it first. "Yes, that would explain it, good work John. Perhaps your intelligence is not as small as I thought." He said.

Lestrade snapped out of his shock as well and proceeded to keep interrogating Sherlock about the case he keeps mentioning. "How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Sherlock pointed down to the body as a response. Her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg. "Tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." He squats down by the woman's body and examines the backs of her legs more closely.

"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?" He asks looking at Lestrade.

He shrugs. "There wasn't a case." He states simply.

The consulting detective stood frowning. "Say that again." He said.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." He the policeman repeats.

Immediately Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he begins to hurry down the stairs. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

I exchanged a look with the detective beside me before following him out and stop on the landing. Lestrade calls down the stairs. "Sherlock, there was no case!"

Sherlock slows down, but still makes his way down the stairs. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them." He calls back. Wow he sure like to insult people.

Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Right, yeah, thanks! And...?" He asks.

Sherlock seemed ready to strangle someone. "It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings –serial killings."

He holds his hands up in front of his face in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to." Does he know the meaning of decent?

Apparently Lestrade was thinking the same thing. "Why are you saying that?"

Sherlock ignores him, instead he calls back. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Like John said someone else was here, and they took her case." He then continues more quietly as if talking to himself. "So, the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." Thanks to my enhanced hearing I hear him.

Lestrade keeps his questions and suggestions coming. "She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there."

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking..." Sherlock says looking up at us again before trailing of as if something hit him.

"Oh." His face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Oh!" He claps his hands together in delight.

I'm starting to think he blew a fuse. "Uh... Sherlock?" I ask.

Lestrade leans over the railing. "What is it, what?"

Sherlock, the git, smiles cheerfully. "Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." He answers before continuing down the stairs.

Lestrade seems distraught. "We can't just wait!" The Coocoo bird stops. Yes, I'm calling him coocoo bird in my head. "Oh, we're done waiting!" He yells before continuing.

I look at Lestrade confusion clear on both our features. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" We hear Sherlock call before he disappears out of the building.

Lestrade rolls his eyes before practically screaming. "Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!"

Sherlock comes back and runs up a couple of stairs so that he can be seen before he stops and yells up to Lestrade. "PINK!"

Oh of course yes... wait what?!

And that's it my very first chapter! I'm very proud of how it turned out. Anyways leave a review tell me if you guys liked it. I'll try to post a new chapter every Saturday, be sure to remind me of I don't. Anyways see you next chapter!

 _Word count_ : 8400


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom or Sherlock, though I wish I did.

John's POV

He hurries off again. Lestrade, baffled, turns and goes back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurry up the stairs and follow him into the room.

"Let's get on with it." Anderson grumbled.

Forgotten by everyone else, I hesitate on the landing for a moment and then I start making my way down the stairs. A couple more police officers hurry up and one of them bumps against me, almost throwing me off-balance. The man hurries on without a word, although his colleague does at least look apologetically at me as he passes. Shortly after I walk out onto the street. Looking all around, I don't see any sign of Sherlock. Great... I walk towards the police tape, still looking around. Donovan, standing at the tape, sees me.

"He's gone." I hear her say. "Who, Sherlock Holmes?" I ask to clarify but I'm pretty sure its him.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that." She responded shaking her head. "Is he coming back?" I ask, though the Coocoo bird is probably long gone.

"Didn't look like it." She responds. knew it. I sigh and look Around not really sure what to do. "Right. Right ... Yes."

Fantastic... "Sorry, where am I?" It's been a while since I've been in London, jeesh I'm hopelessly lost.

"Brixton." Donavan responds. "Right. Err, d'you know where I could get a cab? It's just, err... I'm not sure how far I am from my apartment.

"Err..." she steps over to the tape and lifts it for me. "...try the main road." She suggests.

"Thanks." I mutter ducking under the tape. Now to find a stupid cab.

"But you're not his friend." I hear from behind me. I turn to her.

"He doesn't have friends. So who are you?" She inquires crossing her arms.

"I'm... I'm nobody. I just met him." I respond rubbing the back of my neck.

"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy." She says. Wow she must really hate him. "Why?" Sure his not the most decent guy but at least he's interesting.

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there." She says as if it were fact.

"Why would he do that?" Surely his not that much of a coocoo bird.

"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored." She states. I look down in thought. "Huh looks like he is to her..." I mutter just as Lestrade's voice booms from the porch of the building. "Donovan!"

Donovan turns and yells. "Coming." She turns back towards me as she walks towards the house. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

I watch her go for a moment, sighing I turn and make my way to the road. As I reach it, the phone in a public telephone box begins to ring. Turning to my right in curiosity I notice there's no one there. That's, odd. I stop and look at it for a few seconds, no one seems to be getting it, but then I remember my task, shaking my head I continue down the road. The phone stops ringing.

Not long afterwards, I'm walking down what may well be Brixton High Road. Did you know that it's impossible to get a fricking cab in London? Well it is.

"Taxi! Taxi..." I call the tenth cab that passes by me. of course the taxi passes me by. In a fast food joint next to me, the payphone on the wall begins to ring. I turn and look as one of the serving staff walks over to it but as he reaches for the phone, it stops. Okay that's creepy. I keep walking down the road and shortly afterwards approach another public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Okay, if this is Technus messing with me I'm going to blast him. Sighing, I pull open the door, go inside and answer the phone.

"Hello?" I say in a calm voice. I thought it was Technus but, boy was I wrong. Through the line a man's voice speaks. No its...

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" He asks.

I smile. "Mycroft still cryptic as ever." I respond.

Mycroft chuckles. "Do indulge me for old times' sake?" He says. "Do you see the camera, Doctor Watson?" He continues.

I chuckle but oblige. Looking around I glance through the window of the phone box at the CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building.

"Yeah, I see it." I say into the phone.

"Watch." Mycroft says before the camera, which was pointing directly at me, now swivels away.

"There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?" He says amusement in his tone.

I look across to the second camera, which is also pointed towards the phone box I'm in.

"Mmm-hmm. I see it. Are you done playing games Mycroft?" I ask chuckling.

The camera immediately swivels away. "oh your no fun Danny, and I thought you would like this." He jokes.

"Oh don't get me wrong this little game is entertaining and all but you did this the first time we met as well." I reply chuckling.

Mycroft chuckles as well. "Get into the car, Danny Fenton." A black car pulls up at the curbside near the phone. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door.

"I'll be seeing you soon." The phone goes dead. I put it down and ponder for a long moment, I wonder what he wants, then turning I leave the box.

A few moments later I'm sitting in the back seat of the car as it pulls away and drives off. An attractive young woman is sitting beside me, her eyes fixed on her BlackBerry while she types on it. She is pretty much ignoring me. Why do I feel fourteen all over again with my old crush on Paulina?

"Hello." Might as well try to spark up a conversation.

The woman smiles brightly at me for a moment before returning her gaze to her phone. "Hi."

"What's your name, then?" I ask.

She hesitates for a moment. "Err ... Anthea." She says not looking up from her phone.

That name is obviously fake. "Is that your real name?" I push.

Anthea looks up from her phone and smiles. "No." She says before going back to her phone.

I nod, then twist to look out of the rear window briefly before turning back again. She not very chatty is she.

"I'm John." I say trying to break the ice. If she can use a fake name I can use my other identity.

"Yes. I know." She replies her undivided attention on her phone.

I shift my eyes around the car. "Any point in asking where I'm going?" I ask giving up on trying to make conversation.

"None at all..." She trails of glancing at me, she smiles softly before whispering. "Danny."

Thanks to my enhanced hearing I catch what she whispered. Of course she knows... "Okay."

Sometime later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the center of the area, leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella as he watches the car stop. I get out and walk towards him.

In front of Mycroft is a straight-backed armless chair facing him. He gestures to it with the point of his umbrella as I walk towards him.

"Have a seat, Danny." He says.

I glance around the warehouse. "You know you could have ringed me. Not that this whole set up isn't cool and all, but still I have a phone, I could have flown over."

I say walking past the chair standing a few feet in front of him.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." He says waving his umbrella to the place. His voice took a bit of a stern tone at the end of the sentence.

He gestured to the chair as he brought one of his own. "Care to have a seat?" He asks as he sits down.

"I don't wanna sit down." I say deciding to just float of the ground a bit in front of the chair.

Mycroft looks at me curiously. "Aren't you afraid of someone seeing?" He asks even though he probably already guessed the answer.

"No one here to see. Its only you and your assistants, who already know." I reason moving my legs so they cross each other.

"Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He gives me a stern look. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

I shrug. "I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him..." I glance around again in thought. Wait wasn't it yesterday? "...yesterday."

Mycroft nodded. "Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" His sarcasm dripped of his words.

I laugh awkwardly. "No I don't think so. but I'll send you a message." I reply sarcastically. "So why you interested in Sherlock, I'm guessing you're not friends." I ask tilting my head.

"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having. And I'm sure you know of plenty of those." He replied.

"An Enemy." I reply coldly, remembering a certain fruitloop.

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic." He says a bit of fondness in his tone.

I raise a brow and give him a pointed look. "Well, thank God you're above all that." my sarcasm is really showing in these words, to further prove my point I wave my arms around the abandoned building.

Mycroft frowns at me, shaking his head. Just then my phone trills a text alert. Narrowing my eyes, I dig into my jacket pocket and take out my phone. Turning it on I check looking at the message.

Baker Street.

Come at once

if convenient.

SH

I frown at the phone. "I hope I'm not distracting you." I hear Mycroft's voice chime in.

I lean back and look up at him putting the phone away. "Not distracting me at all." I say casually.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" He asks swinging his cane in boredom.

"I could be wrong ... but I think that's none of your business." I say shrugging my shoulders.

He leans forward in his seat. "It could be." He says looking me in the eye.

I stare right back giving him a sly grin. "It really couldn't."

As a response he takes a notebook from his inside pocket, then opens it and consults it as he speaks. "If you do move into, um..." He looks at the book again before looking up. "two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way." He offered putting the book away before looking at me expectedly.

I tilt my head narrowing my eyes. "Why?" I ask curiously.

"Because you're not a wealthy man." He says as if it were obvious.

"In exchange for what?" I ask tightening my lips.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to." He says as if he were a worried brother.

I relax a bit. I can see Jazz doing the same for me. "Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly." He says swinging his cane.

"I see." I respond playing with a strand of hair at the back of my neck.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship." He adds shrugging a bit.

My phone chimes with another text alert. I stop playing with my hair and go to fish the phone out of my pocket again and look at the message.

If inconvenient,

come anyway.

SH

I look up from my phone and pocket it. "Okay." I respond. I'll just tell Sherlock anyways just to annoy him.

Mycroft beams slightly before becoming serious again. "Yes, very good, it seems you have matured a bit from seven years ago." He chuckles a bit.

I roll my eyes. "Gee thanks." I reply a bit sarcastically.

"Anyways you'll be paid a thousand pounds a week in exchange of you giving me information every week." He states writing his offer down in his notebook. "Would that be suffice?" He asks looking up to me.

is this guy's serious?! a thousand pounds a week? that's basically four thousand a month. I think that's more than suffice.

I rub the back of my neck, looking down. "Uh yeah, that would be enough." I say looking up.

He nods writing something down. "You know it's funny..." He starts but trails off.

I tilt my head in confusion. "What is?"

"That you decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" He says chuckling a bit.

I cross my arms. "Who says I trust him?" I retort.

Mycroft gives me a pointed look. "Right, I almost forgot you don't trust easily." He says sarcasm hinted in his words.

I roll my eyes and chuckle. "Is that all?"

He raises his head and looks me eyes. "Actually there was something I thought you should know. The S.I.A completed a portal to the Ghost Zone right here in London." He states.

What?! A ghost portal right here in London? "Do the ghost come out willy nilly or do they actually have it closed?" I ask lowering myself back to the ground.

"They still haven't figured out how to keep it closed so it's open at all times. But I wouldn't worry since the disasteroid incident they haven't really come here have they?" Mycroft assures.

welp guess it can't be helped. "okay then, if that's all I think I'm going to go now." I say turning to leave.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." Mycroft's voice chimes as I walk.

I stop dead. My shoulders tense and drop, shaking my head a little, I turn and glare at him my eyes cold. What is with everyone reading me like a book? It's starting to get annoying.

"My wot?" I spit out through my gritted teeth.

Mycroft doesn't seem fazed by this. "Show me."

He nods towards my left hand as he speaks, planting the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. I, however, am not going to be intimidated and deliberately shift my feet under me glancing around as if in contemplation. Raising my hand, I stay still. If he wants to look at my hand he has to come to me. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for my hand. I let him take my hand before making it intangible, slipping it out of his hand.

Mycroft gives me a pointed look, I chuckle before dropping the intangibility.

Mycroft takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely. "Remarkable."

I tilt my head in confusion. "What is?" I ask wondering why he was so interested in my hand.

"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield." He said letting go of my hand. "You've seen it already, haven't you?"

Oh get to the point. "What's wrong with my hand?" I ask rolling my eyes.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." He says in answer. I nod my head, of course it does that, I was shot in the arm for fucks sake.

"Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service." He adds.

I almost flinches as Mycroft accurately fires off these facts at me. I cross my arms my eye twitching in slight anger.

"Get to your point." I growl out my teeth gritting together.

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." He states nodding his head to my crossed arms.

My eyes narrow before flickering to my arms. uncrossing them I notice that my hand is in fact steady.

Mycroft's voice makes itself known again. "You're not haunted by the war, Danny, given your history I would be surprised if you were... you miss it." He leans closer to me. "Welcome back." He whispers before backing up. Turning he walks away.

Just I turn to leave as well my phone chimes again. Ignoring it for a second I glance at the retreating man. He stops for a moment and looks over his shoulder. "Until we meet again Danny." He says before leaving.

I stands fixed to the spot for a few seconds, behind me, the car door opens and Anthea gets out, her attention still riveted to the BlackBerry held in front of her in both hands. "I'm to take you home." She says her gaze never leaving the screen.

I turn to her but stop, oh wait I should check that text… Opening my phone I check the last message.

Could be dangerous.

SH

I smirk to myself putting my phone away, you don't need to tell me twice. Anthea's voice pops up. "Address?"

I glance at up as I start to make my way to the car. "Err, Baker Street. Two two one B Baker Street. But I need to stop off somewhere first." I respond getting in the car.

We stop by my old place. Getting out of the car I go up to my room. Grabbing both the gun and ectogun I head back to the car and head back to Baker Street. Stepping out of the car I turn to Anthea. "Hey, um… do you get any free time?" I ask rubbing the back of my neck.

She chuckles. "Oh, yeah. Lots." She responds eyes still glued to her phone. I stand there awkwardly as she keeps working on her phone, after a long moment she glances at me. "Bye." Coughing awkwardly, I turn to leave. "Okay." I say as I enter the building.

By now I should be somewhat used to Sherlock behavior, right? Apparently the Coocoo bird is full of surprises, which I figure out when I enter the flat and see him lying down with his shirt sleeves rolled up, clenching his left fist repeatedly. "What are you doing?" I ask entering the room and standing in front of him.

Sherlock glances at me, calmly lifting his right hand to show three round nicotine patches. "Nicotine patch. Helps me think." He says pressing on the patches against his skin to speed up the effects. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He clicks his 'k' in the last word as if to punctuate his annoyance.

I roll my eyes. "Its good news for breathing." And flying don't want that stuff to ruin my flight, I add in my head. Sherlock gives me a dismissive look. "Oh, breathing. Breathings boring."

I frown when I notice he has three patches on. "Are those three patches you have on?" I ask. He places his hands under his chin as if in prayer and closes his eyes. "It's a three patch problem." He responds. I glance around a moment before retuning my gaze back to him. "Well?" I ask tapping my foot slightly.

The git doesn't respond. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming its important." As soon as I finish my sentence his eyes snap open. "Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" He asks glancing in my direction. The hell, did he just get me over here just to borrow my phone again? "And what's wrong with yours? It seemed to be working just fine for you to call me over." I sigh exasperated. "Don't wanna use my. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website." He responds calmly. I take a deep breath. "Mrs. Hudson's got a phone." I say through gritted teeth; my fangs were begging to dig into my bottom lip.

"Yes, she's downstairs, I tried calling but it seems she didn't here me." He replies his eyes still closed. My right eye twitches slightly. "I _was_ on the other side of London." I say through my gritted teeth my eyes flashing green for a millisecond.

"There was no hurry." He responded casually. I seriously want to shoot him with a icicle right now. Sighing I fish out my phone from my old jacket and extend it towards him. "Here."

Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with his palm up. I glare at him for a moment. This git is getting on my nerves, and why does blasting his face of sound so appealing to me. Stepping forward I slap the phone into his hand. The consulting detective slowly lifts his arm and puts his hands together again the phone pinned between them.

Turning to pace around the room I glance at the coocoo bird again. "So, what's this about – the case?" I ask trying to get some information out of him. I hear him whisper. "Her case?" What? "Her case?" I ask feeling confused. Sherlock opens his eyes. "Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake." He says.

Oh, I think I get it. "Okay so he took her case, now what?" Sherlock lowers his voice as if talking to himself. "It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Raising his voice a little he holds out my phone to me. "On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text." He says expectedly. This git… I smile tightly. "You brought me here… to send a text." I say tightly straining to keep my anger in check. I'm seriously going to blow shit up after this.

As if oblivious to my anger he insists. "Text, yes. The number on my desk." He says his hand still outstretch with my phone still in his palm. If I overshadow him and make him jump out of the window, is that still considered homicide? I wonder before stomping over to him snatching my phone I head over to the window. Sherlocks voice breaks the silence once more. "What's wrong?" He asks. Glancing back, I notice that he opened his eyes and had tilted his head in my direction.

Turning my gaze outside again I shrug. "Nothing really just met an old friend, apparently has yours as well." I respond.

"A friend?" He asks, I can hear the confused frown he has on his face. "Well more like an enemy in your case." I correct myself. "Oh, which one?" He replies calmly.

I chuckle. "Your _arch_ -enemy, according to him." I turn to him. "Do people still have arch-enemies anymore?" I say turning to him an amused smile on my face. He looks me up and down his eyes narrowed. "Did he offer money to spy on me?" He asks suspicion in his voice. "Yeah." I respond simply.

He looks away for a second. "Did you take it?" He asks glancing at me again. "Yeah, four thousand pounds a month." I respond simply preparing for if he attacks, though I doubt he could take me on. I didn't expect his responds. "Good well split the fee then good thinking John. Now the number." He says expectedly.

I roll my eyes my anger subsiding and turning into annoyance. Walking over to the desk I fish out the number. Checking the name, I recognize it. "Jennifer Wilson… Wait, hang on ain't that the dead lady's name?" I say looking at him. "Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Groaning at his vague response I shake my head before starting to put in the number.

"Are you doing it?" Sherlock asks impatiently.

"Yes." I respond.

.

.

.

"Have you _done_ it?"

"Ye… hang on!" I say exasperated with the man.

He waits for a couple of seconds. "These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out."

I start typing but then stop and glance at him. He blacked out? He keeps narrating. "Twenty =-two Northumberland street. please come." He finishes. I had paused and didn't finish writing the message instead I turn to him frowning slightly. "You blacked out?" I ask slightly concerned.

Sherlock looks at me. "What? No. No!" He flips his legs around and stands up, stepping on the coffee table he makes his way over to the kitchen. "Type and send it. Quickly." He says heading to the kitchen. I look down at the phone and continue the message. He comes back carrying something. Heading to the dining table he pulls out one of the chairs, setting it in front of one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, he places the object on it and sits down in the armchair.

"Have you sent it?"

"Uh, what's the address?"

"Twenty-two Northumberland street. Hurry up!" He says impatiently. Albright jeez no need to get worked up. I finish the message then look up to see him open a pink suitcase revealing its contents. Wait a minute. "That's the pink lady's suitcase. That's Jennifer Wilsons case." I say walking round it to face Sherlock.

"Yes, obviously." He says studying the case closely. I stare at him stunned. Well then…. Am I seriously rooming with a serial killer? If so I think I'd prefer living with the Fruitloop after all. Sherlock glances at me and roll his eyes. "Oh, perhaps I should mention, _I_ didn't kill her."

"Never said I did." I respond in defense even though I was relaxing on the inside.

He gives me an inquisitive look. "Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." He responds calmly.

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" If so how the hell do the guys at Scotland Yard still let him into the crime scenes?

The coocoo bird smirks as if it were funny. "Now and then, yes." He lifts himself with his hand on the arms of the chair and puts his feet on the seat leaning his back on the backrest he places his hands under his chin.

"okay then." I sit down in my chair. "So, how did you get this?"

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man which is statistically more likely – so obviously, he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the second he found out he had it. Wouldn't take him more than five minutes to notice his mistake. So, I checked every back street big enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens. And anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being seen. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip." He finishes explaining looking pleased with himself. I

I lean back in awe. Wow he did all that while I was with Mycroft? "Pink. You figured all of this out, just because you realized her case would be pink?"

"Well, it _had_ to be pink, obviously."

"Huh, why didn't I think of that?" I say to myself. I guess I'm more used to tracking ghosts.

I'm startled when Sherlock answers. "Because your and idiot." I glance at him bewildered. "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is." He says waving his hand dismissively. Pointing his hand to the case he says. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

I look at the case and study it. Hmm well it can be clothes or toiletries, seriously this lady was obsessed with pink, wait. "Her phone." I respond.

"Exactly, you don't seem to be as much of an idiot as I first though, an idiot non-the less but still. There was no phone on the body, it's not in her case. We know she had one – that's her number there; you just texted it." Sherlock says waving his hands in gestures.

"Maybe she left it at home?" I suggest. He lifts himself up again and sits down again his feet resting on the floor.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She _never_ leaves her phone at home."

At that moment, I glance at my phone. "Err, why did I just send that text?"

"Well the question is: where is her phone now?"

I think for a moment, okay either she lost it or…. Oh, for fucks sake. "The murderer, you think the has the phone."

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way the balance of probability is the murderer has the phone."

"So, I just texted a murderer? What good will _that_ do?" I say just as my phone rings. I look to Sherlock then to my phone the screen flashing with an unknown number. Sherlock was looking at my phone as well. "A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just _found_ the phone they would ignore a text like that, but the murderer…" He pauses for a dramatic effect. Wow Mycroft wasn't kidding when he said he was dramatic. The phone stops ringing. "…Would panic." He flips the lid of the suitcase shut.

Standing Sherlock grabs his coat and heads for the door. I my gaze follows him. "Have you talked to the police?" I ask the detective.

"Four people are dead. There's no time for the police." He states going to open the door. "So why are you talking to me?" I ask twisting my body to meet his eyes. As I do this I notice the skull is gone. I'm replacing the skull aren't I.

Sherlock was halfway out the door when his head pops back into the room. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull." I knew it.

"So, I'm basically replacing the skull."

"Relax you're doing fine." He says as if it were a compliment. I don't move from my place in the chair. "Well?" I hear him say from the door.

"Well what?" I ask.

"Well you could just sit there and watch tally, or."

'You want me to come with you?" I ask bewildered

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I think out loud and the skull just attracts attention so…" He responds giving me a cheeky smile.

I smile briefly, sounds like an adventure. "You know I was warned against this, sink you seem to get off it." I say as I stand.

"And I said dangerous and here you are." He replied smirking before waltzing out the door.

I shake my head. "Damn it he's right." I mumble before following.

Were now headed to Northumberland street. "You think he's stupid enough to go there?"

Sherlock is smiling as he responds. "No, I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones, they're so desperate to get caught."

Why would a serial killer want to get caught? "Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! A chance in the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius John, it needs attention."

I give the man a look. I thinks I notice Sherlock. "Yeah."

The implication flies over his head as he spins, his arms outstretch. "This is his hunting ground, right here at the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims are abducted, that changes everything! Because all of his victims disappear from these busy streets and nobody sees them go." He stops holds his hands at the sides of his head as if he was trying to focus. "Think! Who could we trust? Who could hunt in the middle of a crowed? Who passes by, unnoticed where ever they go?" he exclaims.

Hmm who could do that? Maybe a ghost? They could if they overshadow the person. Or use invisibility. "Maybe a ghost?" O suggest.

Sherlock looks at me then shrugs. "Could be, hungry?" He suggests leading the way to a small restaurant.

When we enter were immediately directed to a reserved table in front of the window. Huh they must know Sherlock then.

"Thank you Billy." I hear him say before we sit down. I sit down with my back to the window. Sherlock nods his head to the building across the street. "Twenty-two Northumberland street, keep your eye on it." He says. I nod and make a clone of myself when he's not looking having it fly to the building invisibly.

"Do you really think he's going to walk up and ring the doorbell? He'd have to be mad."

"He _has_ killed four people John."

"Well mad-er." I say as someone else comes to the table.

"Sherlock!" The man says taking Sherlock's hand and shaking it.

"Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." He proclaims placing two menus on the table. "On the house, for you _and_ your date." He says. What is it with _everyone_ thinking were a thing?

Sherlock turns to me. "Do you want to eat?" He asks.

I'm more focused on the owner of the place. "I'm not his date." I state.

He ignores me completely and keeps talking. "This man got me of a murder charge." He says placing a hand on Sherlocks shoulder.

Sherlock introduces him. "This is Angelo."

Angelo offers a hand for me to shake, I take it.

"Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particular vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking." Sherlock states. But wouldn't that mean he'd still go to prison?

As I think this Angelo beams at me. "He cleared my name."

"I cleared it a _bit_." He corrects. "Anything happening opposite?"

Angelo looks to him. "Nothing." He says before turning to me again. "If it weren't for this man I would have one to prison." He says, then Sherlock corrects again. "You _did_ go to prison."

This guy must have hearing problem cause he continues as if he didn't hear him. "I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic." He says before turning to walk away. "I'm not his date!" I call after him, sighing I turn to Sherlock.

He gestures to the menus. "You might as well eat something we might be here a while." He says before turning his gaze to the window again. I look at the menu just as Angelo returns with a lit candle. He gives me a thumb up before going back to the kitchen. "Thanks…" I mutter turning my attention to the menu, my clones attention on the building.

A little while later there a plate of food in front of me. Licking my lips I dig in. "You know I used to have an arch enemy once." I say to start a conversation. Sherlock takes a moment before turning to face me. "Sorry?"

I shrug as I continue to eat. "Yeah we used to be at each other's thoughts. You wouldn't imagine the prank wars we used to pull on each other, though he did become mayor of my town just to annoy me." I say trying to start conversation.

"Really? Well with us it's more of an intellectual race. Even though he believes he's smarter." He responds. "So yours become mayor of your town to spite you?" Sherlock says.

"Yeah, and on top of that he was always trying to break my parents up, since he wanted to be with my mom." I say a shudder running down my spine at the memory.

Sherlock nods smiling in amusement. "He sounds like he was a handful."

"Yeah he was… anyways do you have a girlfriend then?" I ask trying to get to know him better.

Sherlock turns his gaze out the window again. "No, not really my area." He says his gaze fixated on the window.

I nod and continue eating. After a moment, I realize the possible meaning in the statement. "Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend?"

Sherlocks head snaps to my direction.

"Which is fine, by the way." I add quickly.

"I _know_ its fine." He replies a bit sharply. Huh he seems annoyed…I'm going to keep asking questions.

I smile trying to say that I'm fine with it. "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No." came his sharp answer.

I'm still smiling but it's starting to strain. "Right. Okay. Your unattached. Like me." I say before concentrating on my food again. This is starting to get to awkward. "Good."

I keep eating for a bit before Sherlock's voice interrupts me, he seems to be just as uncomfortable as I am. "John, um, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, though I'm flattered I'm simply not looking for a relationship right- "I cut off his rambling. "No." I simply state before clearing my through a bit. "No, I'm not asking no." I say fixating my gaze on Sherlock. "I'm just saying, it's _all_ fine."

He looks at me for a moment before nodding. : Good thank you." He turns his attention back to the street. Oooookay that went to a weird place _really_ quickly. I think just as Sherlock nods out the window. "Look, across the street. Taxi. "He says as I twist around to see. My clone verifies what Sherlock is saying. "Stopped, nobody getting in, and nobody getting out."

In the rear of the taxi the male passenger is looking through the side window as if looking for someone. "Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. _Is_ it clever? _Why_ is it so clever?" I hear Sherlock whisper quietly to himself.

"You can figure that out later, is that him?" I say rolling my eyes at the man, my clone flies in closer staying out of the visible plain to inspect the passenger.

"Don't stare." I hear Sherlock say to me.

" _Your_ staring." I retort looking at him.

"Well we can't both stare." He says before getting up, grabbing his coat he rushes out the door. Standing as well I quickly follow him. In the streets, the cab start to leave, Sherlock the coocoo bird that he is decide to chase after it almost getting t=run over in the process. Sighing I fuse back with my clone before following him. He makes it to the curb were the taxi was park before stopping. "I got the license plate." I say coming to a stop next to him. "Good for you." He says before closing his eyes his hands at the side of his face.

He starts to rapid fire stoplights and directions until he opens his eyes and lowers his palms. "This way." He says before taking of. I sigh, this would be easier if I could just fly us, but that would include telling him my secret and I really don't want to tell him that. It would beat the purpose of having this identity. I run after him.

We go down alleys, up escape latter's and run over roof tops, at one point I almost fell as we jumped for one roof to another, thank god, I have ghost powers. At one point, we almost caught up but the taxi sped past us, we grunt in frustration before Sherlock starts of in another direction. Finally, we manage to cut of the taxi… by running in front of it. The cab screeches to a halt as Sherlock crashes hard into the bonnet. Scrabbling with his jacket he pulls out an I.D. badge and flashes it at the driver as he runs to the right-hand side of the cab.

"Police! Open her up!" He shouts panting heavily as he opens the rear door. Staring at the passenger Sherlock instantly straightens as I catch up with him. "No." He leans down again to glance at the passenger who's anxiously staring at us. "Teeth, tan: what – Californian?" He says glancing at the floor to the luggage the poor guy has. "L.A. Santa Monica. Just arrived." He states straightening up again he grimaces.

I glance at the luggage before turning to him. "Well shit." I say as Sherlock directs his attention to the passenger again. "It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" He says to the man. "Uh, sorry- are you guys the police?" He asks. Sherlock flashes the badge his holding briefly to the man. "Yeah. Everything alight?"

The man smiles as if relived. "Yeah."

Sherlock pauses for a moment before saying. "Welcome to London." Then he quickly walks of leaving me behind. Leaning on the door I look at the man. "Err, any problems, just let us know." I say awkwardly before shutting the door and following Sherlock.

"So, it was just a cab that happened to slow down."

"Basically."

"Not the murderer."

"Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go." Sherlock says twiddling with the I.D. card.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here." I ask taking the card. He lets me.

"Right." I look at the name on the card. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat." He says glancing around.

I nod, glancing at the card again before giggling.

Sherlock looks at me weirdly. "What?"

I stop giggling. "Nothing just: Welcome to London." I say chuckling.

Sherlock chuckles as well then, he seems to notice something down the word. Turning to me he smiles. "Got your breath back?"

Well technically it never left but. "Ready when you are." I say smiling before we run down the road.

And that's it the second chapter done! I'm sorry it's a day late. It really didn't want to get written and I was using the script for reference! Anyways thank you so much for your reviews they really brightened up my day! Well see you next chapter!

Word Count: 7209


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock or Danny Phantom. Tho I wish I did.

We arrive at the 221B Baker street a little while after that. We enter the house and lean on our knees catching our breath. I take my jacket of and hang it on the hook for a second letting my core cool me down. the room lowers in temperature slightly. Sherlock who was in the process of taking of his Coat pauses tilts his head slightly and leaves it on.

"Okay, that was ridiculous." I breath out straightening as the cold relaxes me. Sherlock leans against the wall still trying to recover. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done." I comment chuckling. And I've done some pretty ridiculous shit.

"And you invaded Afghanistan." I hear Sherlock comment chuckling as well.

I giggle at that. Sherlock pauses before breaking out in hysterics as well.

"Hey, that wasn't just me." I retort crossing my arms mockingly. He keeps laughing bit it has calmed down. "Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" I ask uncrossing my arms.

Sherlock stops laughing before he waves his hand dismissively. "Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." He admits.

"So, what were we doing there?" I ask. He clears his throat. "Oh, just passing the time." He responds. I nod leaning against the wall next to him.

I turn to face him. "I tend to leave my room messy, I love the cold and seem to bring it wherever I go, and I'll probably be sleep deprived and annoying some days." I state giving him a serious look.

Sherlock tilts his head at me. I shrug. "You said that potential flat mates should know about the worst of each other." I state smirking.

Sherlock grins a childlike grin. Turning he calls loudly towards the door to Mrs. Hudson's ground floor flat. "Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs."

I chuckle again at his antics. Yep I think I'll like living here.

I go to grab my jacket when Mrs. Hudson comes out of her flat and hurries over to us. She sounds upset and tearful as she speaks.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" She asks fearfully. What? I put on my jacket as Sherlock addresses her.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

She shakes her head and points up the stairs. "Upstairs."

Sherlock turns and hurries up the stairs, I follow. Sherlock opens the living room door and goes inside, stepping as well I stand next to Sherlock as he stares at D.I. Lestrade sitting casually in the armchair facing the door. Other police officers are going through Sherlock's possessions. Sherlock storms over to Lestrade.

"What are you doing?" He almost yells.

They must have done this rodeo various time cause Lestrade doesn't even flinch. "Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid."

"You can't just break into my flat!"

"And you can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat." Wow I'm surprised none of them have blown a gasket yet. I think staying behind and observing the spectacle.

"Well, what do you call this then?" Sherlock retorts ignoring Lestrade's comment.

Lestrade looks round at his officers before looking back to Sherlock innocently. "It's a drug bust."

I chuckle. Oh, this is hilarious. "Seriously?!This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!" I ask pointing my thumb at Sherlock.

Sherlock turns and walks closer to me, biting his lip. "John..." He whispers. I ignore him.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." I state waving my hand to the area.

I can feel Sherlock tense next to me. "John, you probably want to shut up now."

I turn to him and shrug slightly. "Yeah, but come on..." I start but trail of. I look into Sherlock's eyes. He holds my gaze for a long moment, his blue eyes are hard but have a panicked look in them.

"No." I whisper loudly.

He glances at the officers in the room somewhat nervously. "What?" he whispers back

"You?" I ask keeping my voice down so Lestrade doesn't hear me.

"Shut up!" He whispers yells glaring at me before turning his attention back to the D.I. "I'm not your sniffer dog." He says his knuckles turning white from how hard he's closing them.

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade responds nodding towards the kitchen.

Sherlock tilts his head as he turns towards the kitchen. "What, An..."

I was glancing around the room when the closed doors to the kitchen slide open and reveal several more officers in there searching through the room. Anderson turns towards the living room and raises his hand in sarcastic greeting.

If looks could kill Anderson would be a block of ice right now. Now that I think about it, he does annoy me... "Anderson, what are you doing here on a drug bust?" Sherlock all but yelled.

Anderson sneered. "Oh, I volunteered." The venom I n his voice was almost touchable.

Sherlock turns away, biting his lip angrily.

Lestrade pipes up again. "They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drugs squad, but they're very keen."

Donovan comes into view from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. Are those eyes?

"Are these human eyes?" She says voicing my question.

Sherlock looks like he's about to explode. "Put those back!"

"They were in the microwave!" She retaliates.

"It's an experiment." Poor dude he's getting bullied by the police.

"Keep looking, guys." Lestrade said standing up to meet the fretting sociopath. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down." He says to him.

Sherlock at this point was pacing the room his face flush in anger. "This is childish." He says as he walked. I kept back feeling his anger in waves and wanting to stay out of range.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child." Lestrade said shaking his head. "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" He asked giving him a pointed look.

Sherlock stops his pacing his icy glare set on the D.I. "Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drug bust to bully me?" He asks stuttering slightly in his anger and frustration.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." He replies easily.

"I am clean!" Sherlock practically screams.

"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade counters, not backing down.

"I don't even smoke." Says exasperated lifting his sleeve to reveal one patch. Hang on didn't he have three earlier?

Lestrade lifts his own sleeve as well. "Neither do I." He says his eyes locked with Sherlocks. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns away and they both pull their sleeves back down again.

"So, let's work together. We've found Rachel." He said crossing his arms.

This seemed to perk Sherlock up a bit. "Who is she?" He demands.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." He responds calmly.

Sherlock frowns tilting his head. "Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

Andersons voice pops up from the kitchen. "Never mind that. We found the case." He points to the pink suitcase in the living room.

"According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath." He said glaring in our general direction.

Sherlock doesn't even glance at him. "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." He says waving him of. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I_ need to question her." He continues.

"She's dead." Lestrade responded calmly.

Sherlock smiles excitedly. "Excellent!" He says clapping his hands together.

I jump slightly. Wow this guy doesn't know anything about decency. She could be a have been a ghost I've met before for crying out loud. Shifting uncomfortably, I clear my throat.

"How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be." He continues his attention completely on Lestrade.

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." He responds. Oh, my god. So, Rachel is not a name for someone.

I cringe slightly turning my gaze to my feet, huh I think I'm going have to buy new converses. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looks confused.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows narrowing his eyes. "No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?" He asks out loud turning to me.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now." He said his disgust for Sherlock evident.

Sherlock turned to face Anderson his annoyance clear. "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." He said putting emphasis on hurt. He begins to pace back and forth across the room again.

Okay Fenton think, put that genius's son mind to work. "You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he... talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." I suggest.

He stops his pacing and turns to me. "Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" He asked his head tilted in confusion. Everything seemed to stop for me, as I stare at Sherlock in the eye.

Okay I get that he's a sociopath but seriously that's just cold... was this type of coldness what I was looking for in that alternate dimension? I shake my head to clear it as I hear Sherlock speak. "Not good?"

I glance around the room. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and were staring at us. "Yah think? Jesus Sherlock I know you're a sociopath but at least try to show some emotion!" I say trying to lift the mood.

Sherlock looks around one more time before looking at me intently again. "Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" He asked.

Oh, there are a lot of things I would say, were to begin? This can't, be it? Who's going to protect the town now? What will my parents do? It can't end like this? In the end, I say the one where it would fit best with the whole going to war thing. "Please, God, let me live."

Sherlock doesn't seem satisfied with my answer. "Oh, use your imagination!"

I sigh. This fucking Coocoo bird. "I don't have to." I say with a pained look in my eye as I think about all the times either me or one of my friends almost died.

Sherlock seems to recognize the look of pain in my face. He pauses momentarily and blinks a couple of times, shifting his feet apologetically before continuing. "Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever." He said walking around the room again. "She's trying to tell us something." He said. And that got my gears turning.

Mrs. Hudson comes to the door of the living room. "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." She says from the door but I barely register it. Hmm wait a minute she didn't have a laptop in her case, so she might do everything on her phone so that means...

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock said rudely as he keeps pacing.

Mrs. Hudson looks around the room. "Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" She asks as I head over to the case again to check something.

"It's a drug bust, Mrs. Hudson." I hear Lestrade say behind me.

I can hear the anxiety in her voice. "But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers."

Anyways I check the case and soon enough on the label there's an email. That's it! "Ah hah! Sherlock I think I figured it out!" I say out loud.

Sherlock stops his pacing and looks at me, so do the rest of the people on the room. "Really pray tell." He says waving his hand.

I take a deep breath before explaining. "So, I was thinking what if Rachel wasn't a name but a password. Most people do it all the time put the names of their children as passwords. So, I realized that it had to be a password. That's when I remembered that I didn't see a laptop in her case so she probably did all her work on her phone so it probably works with email. So, all we have to do is..." I say making my way to the computer and typing in the Mephone's website and typing the email address into the 'User name' box. "type in the email with the password which is." I trail of to see if anyone was with me.

I hear Sherlock clap his hands together. "Rachel! That's it John well done, there might be some intelligence in you yet!"

"Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!" I could hear the excitement and joy in his voice. "She's cleverer than most of you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him." He said as I waited for the site to load.

"When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone to lead us to her killer." He continues to explain for the rest of the people who by their silence haven't figured it out yet.

"But how?" I hear Lestrade ask. Turning in my seat I face him.

"What do you do when you lose a smart phone like Jeniffer's?" I ask before Sherlock could insult him.

"I use the GPS on it to locate it. But for that you need to know h- oh." He said but stopped in the middle of his sentence.

"Since we now have access to her email we ca-" I was interrupted by Anderson who still doesn't seem to get it. "So, we can read her e-mails. So, what?"

I glare at him and was about to retort but Sherlock beat me to it.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the I.Q. of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her." He explained.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade says skeptically.

"We know he didn't." I say as the site finally loads up.

Sherlock looks at the screen impatiently. "Come on, come on. Quickly!"

Mrs. Hudson calls at the door again. "Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver ..."

Sherlock walks over towards her. "Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?"

I turn around in the chair again and Watch the clock spinning round on the website as it claims that the phone will be located in under three minutes. I hear Sherlock start to discuss something with Lestrade.

"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're gonna have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever." He said

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade said.

"It's a start!" Sherlock exclaimed.

On the computer, a map has appeared and is now zooming in on the location of the phone.

"Sherlock ..." I say still staring at the computer.

"It narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had." Sherlock kept talking to Lestrade.

"Sherlock ..." I say again. Maybe the signal is faulty?

This tine Sherlock must have heard me cause he was suddenly looking over my shoulder. "What is it? Quickly, where?"

I stare at the map for a second, right there blinking was the location of the phone. "It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street."

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade suggested.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?" Sherlock questioned himself.

I turn to Lestrade. "Anyway, we texted him and he called back."

Lestrade nods as he turns to his colleagues. "Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ..."

As the police search the place I try the search again but get the same result. Turning to Sherlock I was about to ask what we should do when I notice that he's zoned out.

"Sherlock, you okay?" I ask him as he stares at the door for a moment.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine." He says vaguely as he makes for the door.

"So, how can the phone be here?" I ask, but in starting to think in not going to get the answer I need.

The consulting detective shook his head. "Dunno."

I stood and grabbed my phone from my jacket pocket. "I'll try it again." I suggest opening my phone.

"Good idea." He says heading out the door.

"Where are, you going?" I call after him.

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." He called back.

I frowns as Sherlock leaves the room, following I call from the stairs. "You sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine." He said heading outside.

Huh that's weird… even for him. I return to the flat and glance out the window. Outside Sherlock is talking to a cabbie? Why in blazes would he be doing that? Curios I send one of my clones to listen to their conversation.

The cabbie looks up at Sherlock. "Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes."

Sherlock steps forward, closing the door behind him. "I didn't order a taxi."

What? Then why is the cabbie there? "Doesn't mean you don't need one." He responds shrugging.

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Sherlock said stepping forward. "It was you, not your passenger." He said.

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." The man confesses.

Sherlock takes a few more steps forward and looks up towards the windows of the flat. "Is this a confession?" He asks eying the man suspiciously.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise." He said raising his hands and ducking his head slightly.

"Why?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

"'Cause you're not gonna do that." The other responds confidently.

"Am I not?" Sherlock says skeptically.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." He said leaning forward. "I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock stares at him. After a moment, the stranger straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab.

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result." Sherlock said shrugging his shoulders, but not moving an inch.

The other stops and turns back towards him. "An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He asked continuing on his way to the driver's seat of the car. Getting in, he sits down and closes the door, settling into his seat and ignoring Sherlock. Biting his lip, Sherlock walks closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat windows, then he bends and looks into the open side window of the cab. What is this Coocoo bird doing, why hasn't he called up for the cops?

"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" He asks the driver.

He turns to face Sherlock. "Let me take you for a ride."'

Sherlock straighten. "So, you can kill me too?" He asked narrowing his eyes.

The cabbie shook his head. "I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself." He said smiling softly.

He turns to face the front again. Sherlock straightens up, his eyes lost in thought as he considers the situation. The cabbie calmly sits gazing out of the front window, then smiles in satisfaction when the rear door opens. The cab dips as Sherlock gets in and then the door slams shut. The driver starts the engine.

As they drive of my clone fusses with my body again. I hold he phone to my ear as I watch the cab leave. "The Coocoo bird just got into a cab with a serial killer?" I mutter before turning to Lestrade. "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab." I inform him.

Donovan, who was standing next to him growled in frustration. "I told you, he does that." She tells me before turning to Lestrade. "He bloody left again." She walks back into the kitchen, talking loudly. "We're wasting our time!"

I ignore her. "I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out." I tell Lestrade keeping the phone to my ear.

He watches me for a second before sighing. "If it's ringing, it's not here."

I drop my arm as the line disconnects. Okay then the search should work now. I grab the computer and do the search again.

Donovan comes back to confront Lestrade. "Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time." She says in frustration.

Wait hasn't he helped in various cases before this and succeed? As I wait for the site to find the phone I hear Lestrade yell to his officers. "Okay, everybody. Done 'ere."

Everyone sigh as they start packing the equipment. Little by little the officers start to leave. "Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?" Lestrade asks looking at me.

Uh cause he's a Coocoo bird with a death wish? "You know him better than I do." I respond, I have a feeling that he wants to do this alone.

Lestrade shook his head. "I've known him for five years and no, I don't."

Woah, five years and he still asks for his help? "So why do you put up with him?"

He gives me a tired smile. "Because I'm desperate, that's why." He walks to the door, pausing he turns back. "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." He turns again this time leaving as well.

I stand in the flat for a while waiting for the site to find the phone. They must be moving far if the phone is on constant motion for so long. I float a bit in front of the computer, listening for anyone in case someone enters the flat. Okay ill just wait for the site to find the phone. Then I'll call Lestrade before flying over there. Yep sounds like a good plan.

Oh, I should probably tell Mycroft as well. I think grabbing my phone I call Mycroft. After a couple of rings, he picks up. "I'm assuming something happened with Sherlock?" I hear from the other end of the line. "Yeah he got in a cab with a serial killer." I say calmly. "What? And why didn't you stop him?" He asks slight panic in his voice. "And before you send in secret service don't worry I'm going to get him." I reassure as the site dings. "Oh, gotta go I'll call you when I get him." I say as I go to hang up. "Danny wa-"I hear Mycroft say before I hang up. Okay let's see… huh why a College?

Grabbing my phone I call Lestrade to let him know that the phone is at Roland-Kerr Further Education College before transforming.

I turn invisible and faze through the window. Looking around I head in the direction I saw the cab leave. After a accouple of bad turns I reach the College. "Oh, come on which building is it?" I say out loud looking in between the buildings. "Oh, fuck it I can check both." I mumble creating a clone. I head to the building on the right and my clone goes to the one on the left. I de-transform and start running through the halls.

"Sherlock?" I call out as I run. "Sherlock!" I check the doors and peer in through windows. After a couple of failed I finally find the right room. "Sherlock!" I say entering the room.

Sherlock turns to me confused. "John? What are you doing here?" He asked confused.

"I came to save your sorry ass that's what." As we talked the cabbie stood from where he was sitting.

"It looks like ill have two victims instead of one today." He said ignoring our bickering. "You know I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you ..."

Sherlock looks at the bottle he as examining when I entered. I stare at the contents, those must be the pills the victims take. Sherlock unscrews the lid. Oh no. "Don't do it Sherlock!" I say taking a step forward.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." I hear the cabbie say. Glancing at him I notice the gun he has in his hand. I stay put.

"So, clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" He continues turning his gaze on Sherlock but keeping the gun trained on me.

Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely.

"Sherlock don't listen to him! Remember this is what he does!" I yell but Sherlock doesn't seem to be listening.

"Still the addict." He says, as Sherlock slowly lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it.

"But this ...this is what you're really addicted to, innit?" The cabbie keeps talking.

Sherlock holds the pill in his fingers and stares at it. Don't do it Sherlock your cleverer than that.

"You'd do anything... anything at all..." He continues.

Sherlock's fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation. He's actually excited?

"...to stop being bored." The cabbie finishes taking out his own pill?

Slowly Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. The cabbie matches the movement with his own pill towards his own mouth. "Don't do it Sherlock!" I yell trying desperately to stop him.

"You're not bored now, are you?" The cabbie says smiling. Both of their hands gets closer to their mouths. "Innit good?"

"Stop!" I scream as a blast is heard and the cabbie shouts dropping his pill. He falls to the ground gasping in pain as a burn starts to form on his chest. I connect with my clone who had just shot an ecto-blast from the other building. The clone flies over and fusses with me as we hear sirens coming from outside.

Sherlock who had dropped his pill in surprise, turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down, he stares through the hole in the glass. The window of the opposite room has a similar whole but there is nobody in sight. As Sherlock straightens up, the cabbie breathes heavily and coughs. Sherlock turns back, looking around the room and seeing one of the pills lying on the desk as the cabbie convulses on the floor and gasps and coughs in pain. Sherlock snatches up the pill, kneels and brandishes it at him. The other seemed to be having an aneurism.

"Was I, right?" Sherlock asks showing the pill.

The cabbie turns his head away in disbelief.

"I was, wasn't I? Did I get it, right?" Sherlock asks again shaking him.

He doesn't reply. Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."

Wait Sherlock has a fan?

"No." The cabbie weakly says.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Sherlock threatens. He's not going to do that, right? He's just bluffing.

The cabbie shakes his head. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifts his foot and puts it onto his shoulder. He gasps in pain. Okay he would. "Sherlock stop! You're hurting him!" I yell finally moving from my spot. I can hear the police making their way upstairs.

He ignores me completely. "A name." The cabbie yells out in pain. " _Now_." He growls. I grab Sherlocks shoulder. "Sherlock stop this." I say turning him to face me.

The cabbie whines in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock shakes me loose and leans his weight onto his foot. The other whimpers.

Sherlock shouts furiously. "The NAME!"

The other screams in agony. "MORIARTY!" His eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, he silently mouths the word 'Moriarty' to himself. I shake my head. "Sherlock, you just finished killing him." I state as the police enter the room. Sherlock ignores me.

Outside the college, were sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. A paramedic puts an orange blanket around Sherlocks shoulders as Lestrade walks over. Sherlock gestures to the blanket. "Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me." He says confused. I chuckle. "It's for shock Sherlock I already explained this." I had one on my shoulders as well.

"I'm not in shock." Sherlock counters. Lestrade chuckles. "Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." He grins. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" I ask even though I know they won't find him.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…" he shrugs. "...got nothing to go on." He informs.

Sherlock looks at him pointedly. "Oh, I wouldn't say that." He says shrugging.

Now it's Lestrade's turn to roll his eyes. "Okay, gimme." He sighs.

Sherlock smirks. "Well obviously, from the distance of the shot and where the burn mark is on the cabbies shoulder, the shooter has aim, their hands didn't shake and they waited until I was in immediate danger to shoot. So probably has a good moral principal, you're looking for someone in the military, with nerves of steel. What I can't figure out is the weapon used." Sherlock finished placing a hand under his chin.

I roll my eyes. Can't this guy tell what a ecto-blast shot is? "It was an ecto-blast, so you're dealing with a ghost." I say casually. They both turn to me.

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked curious.

"What haven't you dealt with ghosts before?" I ask chuckling. When they both stayed, silent I cleared my throat. "Oh, huh, guess they stayed close to America then." I say scratching my head in thought.

They blinked at me. "Wait you saying your American?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah from Amity Park, ghost capitol of the world." I say shrugging.

"Huh, that will prove useful if ghosts come to London. Anyways come on John I believe our work here is done." Sherlock says standing to leave. I roll my eyes and follow.

"But I've still got questions for you." Lestrade said following.

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock whines brandishing the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade says in frustration and amusement.

"And I just caught you a serial killer... more or less." He says smugly.

Lestrade looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." He says making a shoo motion with his hand.

We walk away. Taking the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundles it up and throws it into the open window of a car and ducks under the police tape.

After a while Sherlock chuckles. "Wow this has been exciting." He comments.

"Really? Well yeah but really?" I ask him.

"Yeah, though he was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here!" He comments of handedly.

I start to giggle and he smiles. "Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" I say to myself.

He chuckles.

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?" I say after I calm down.

Sherlock stops and turns to me. "Course I wasn't. Biding my time. I knew that if you showed up the police weren't far behind." He says casually.

"No, you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever." I state looking him in the eye.

"Why would I do that?" He replies acting clueless.

I smile as I look forward. "Because you're an idiot."

Sherlock smiles, apparently delighted that he has finally found someone who understands him and – more to the point – doesn't care about his behavior. After a moment, he forces the smile down. "Dinner?"

"Starving." I reply. We start walking again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Sherlock says. As he speaks, a few yards ahead of us a car has pulled up and Mycroft gets out. Anthea is with him. I stare.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

Sherlock looks across to Mycroft. "I know exactly who that is." He growls waling closer to him. Wait he knows Mycroft.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft asks as we approach.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks through gritted teeth.

"John called, I'm concerned about you." He replied coolly.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'." Sherlock growls.

Mycroft frowns slightly at the lack of surprise from Sherlock. I smirk at that. "Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?" He asks the detective.

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock retorts like a child.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy." Mycroft says shaking his head.

Wait did I hear that right. I think frowning.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock says offended.

Mycroft glowers at him.

"It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." Sherlock says.

"Wait your related to Mycroft?" I ask. They both turn to me.

"Yes, but how do you know him?" Sherlock asks me.

"He enlisted me in the army in the first place." I say, it's not the whole truth but its close enough.

Sherlock doesn't seem convinced but lets it slide.

He turns to Mycroft again. "Putting on weight again?"

"Losing it, in fact." He replies crossing his arms.

I roll my eyes. Yeesh this two are children. "Well Mycroft it was nice seeing you but we should go. Sherlock is recovering from shock." I say gesturing to him. Sherlock glares but takes the opportunity to leave. "Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic." He says before leaving.

I go to follow but stop. Turning to Mycroft I ask. "So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned?"

"Yes, of course." He says as if it were obvious.

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?" I say pointing between them.

He watches his brother go as he answers. "He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners." He chuckles slightly.

"Yeah ... no. God, no!" I say as I turn to follow Sherlock. "Well see you around!"

'Good night, Doctor Watson." I hear Mycroft say as I catch up with Sherlock.

"So: dim sum." I say to him.

"Mmm! I can always predict the fortune cookies."

"No, you can't."

"Almost can."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Yes, you do." I say looking across to Sherlock, who is smiling. "What are you so happy about?" I ask curious.

"Moriarty." He replies simply.

"You mean the name you basically tortured that guys for? What's so important about it?"

Sherlock claps his hands together. "I've absolutely no idea." He says cheerfully.

I roll my eyes at his antics.

3rd POV

Back at the car, Anthea turns to Mycroft who is watching the boys as they walk away. "Sir, shall we go?"

"Interesting, how they bonded." Mycroft says as he watches them depart.

Anthea looks briefly at the departing boys, then turns her attention back to her BlackBerry.

"Dann could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active." Mycroft says to her.

Anthea looks up from her phone. "Sorry, sir. Whose status?" She asks him.

"Sherlock Holmes and Danny Fenton."

Aaaaaaaaaaaand done! Whew finally! A study in Pink is done! Next chapter I'll start with original cases, can't wait! I'm sorry for not posting last week, I was drowning in school work. I promise to have an extra-long chapter for next week to make it up to you guys. See ya later!

Word count: 6327


	4. Author's note

Hi guys, I'm sorry for disappearing like I did with out a word. I know it's been a long time since I've posted a new chapter. To be quite honest multiple things came into play for that, first I got a reaaally bad case of writer's block, then some things happened and I was with out any power or internet for months, and now I was concentrated on school. I know these are just excuses but it's the truth. I also lost interest in both Sherlock and Danny Phantom, but I do want to continue this story, though updates will probably be slow and with less word as my first three. I have a chapter four in the works so Ill be able to post that sometime soon. I'm sorry again for disappearing with out saying anything to you guys, but thank you for sticking with me, and reaching out about the story, it means a lot that you guys like it so much! Well see you in the next chapter

-Coral


End file.
